


He Wept

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake remembers the people he betrayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Wept

Judas must have wept even as he offered up the symbol of betrayal. Press your lips there on the brown and weatherworn cheek; don't see the disappointment. Don't taste the tears. So simple, a kiss--a symbol of love...an identifier.

Blake wept. He wept as they pulled the information from his mind. Wept more as they made him recount the names, stuttering and sobbing out each word.

He understood Judas, understood that betrayal was worse for the betrayer (death is a release but living eats at you till there is nothing but that one action: the kiss).

"I'm choking," he said. "I'm choking to death."

They made him kiss.

The coin they offered up was oblivion. Not silver coins but white, blue, and pink pills--white for the headaches, blue for the nightmares, and the pink ones to calm him.

"You've been ill, Roj. These will make you feel better."

And they did, so he took them. With water or beer or scotch, whatever was handy. Did a part of him know that the pills would keep him from remembering that he betrayed them...that he should have died before betraying them?

If he could, he'd ask Judas why. Was there a choice for him? Did he scream, and scream, and scream (Blake had, until his throat felt raw and bloody), because he had killed the man he loved. How many people had Blake killed?

Thirty-two. Thirty-three if you counted the Fed he had shot (and he did, oh he did, body was body and blood was blood, even if there was no love). Thirty-two people murdered by the sweet kiss of his voice (and one by his hand--never forget, not again, never again).

In his dreams he saw the image of a red-berried tree and knew that someday he would swing.

It was heaven, it felt like heaven the swinging. He could swing forever, maybe it was forever, back and forth, back and forth, as the branch creaked and the wind lifted his hair. It made him smile, it made him free...until he woke.

And then he woke.

And he wept.


End file.
